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Story 9, Himmarshee Hal (Sept. 2015)

What's up with Himmarshee Hal, World's Worst Private Eye? A night at the movies goes drastically awry -- but what doesn't for Hal? It all starts over line-cutting for popcorn . . . Story No. 9 by Deborah Sharp, serial fiction for Riverwalk Magazine

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Deborah Sharp
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58 views1 page

Story 9, Himmarshee Hal (Sept. 2015)

What's up with Himmarshee Hal, World's Worst Private Eye? A night at the movies goes drastically awry -- but what doesn't for Hal? It all starts over line-cutting for popcorn . . . Story No. 9 by Deborah Sharp, serial fiction for Riverwalk Magazine

Uploaded by

Deborah Sharp
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
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FICTION

Missed last months installment of The


Adventures of Himmarshee Hal? Scan the QR
code or visit www.goriverwalk.com to access
the previous story and archived issues.

The Adventures of Himmarshee Hal:

Movie Madness
WRITER DEBORAH SHARP ILLUSTRATOR DENISE BAKER

al and Cayla huddled under a


Riverwalk gazebo, waiting out
a thunderstorm.
One thing about September, said
Cayla, wringing water from her hair.
You cant be afraid to get wet.
It was the first summer in Fort
Lauderdale for Hal, whod moved from
Michigan to become a private eye. He
still wasnt used to these torrents
violent, but usually brief.
When the skies opened, Cayla had
laughed, stomping puddles at Hal as
they dashed for cover. Girls he knew
back home would have moaned over
ruined makeup.
Sunlight, like molten gold, soon
broke through the clouds. They
continued on to Cinema Paradiso. In
July, the downtown theater showed
Florida-made films. Hal chuckled at
Caddyshack; blubbered over the dog in
Marley & Me.
He wasnt as keen on Caylas current
choice. A Polish drama. Subtitled. Hal
hoped he wouldnt snore.
They entered the lobby, shoes
squeaking. In the concession line, Cayla
whispered, Squish, squish.
Hal grinned, until an older man
shoved past, elbowing Cayla. Wearing
ropes of gold jewelry, he reeked of
cologne.
Excuse me. Hals tone was
Midwestern mild. We were here first.
The man snarled: My stupid wife
forgot my popcorn. Now, well miss the
beginning.
You only had to say so. Politely, said
Hal.
Mr. Fragrant swore, impolitely.
Cayla said, Let it go, Hal. Not worth it.
Hal had a fuzzy memory of theater

80

SEPTEMBER 2015

dust-ups turning tragic in


Florida: A shooting over
texting; a fatal shoving
match between seniors.
He stepped aside.
Some moments later,
after snack selection and
bathroom stops, they crept
into the darkened theater.
As soon as they sat, Caylas
nose crinkled. She pointed
in front of her. There was
Mr. Fragrant, erupting in
an explosive bout of throatclearing.
Great, Hal thought. Not
only was the guy a jerk, he was a moviecougher, too.
Suddenly, Mrs. Fragrant screamed,
Somebody, help! My husbands
choking on his popcorn!
For two seconds, Hal contemplated
karma. But then he vaulted over
the seat, hoisted Mr. Fragrant, and
performed an expert Heimlich
Maneuver.
Hals father valued hard work for
his kids. Hal hadlearned the fooddislodging technique as a summer
busboy at their country club.
But even after the kernel popped out,
the man was still red-faced; breathless.
His hearts bad, said his tearful wife.
Hal felt for a pulse; found it racing
and erratic.
Call 911, he told Cayla.
Two weeks later, a knock surprised
Hal in his office. Outside, it was raining
buckets. Hed been studying his sorry
bank balance, working up courage to
ask his disapproving dad for a loan.
The door opened. A familiar scent
wafted in: Himmarshee Hal?

GORIVERWALK.COM

Hal nodded at Mr. Fragrant. I


heard your heart stopped in the
ambulance. Glad you made it.
Thanks to you. He held out a
check. I want you to have this.
Hal protested; the grateful man
insisted. When Hal spotted the
sum, his own heart nearly stopped.
Seventy-three thousand dollars!?
Whats the worth of a life? he
asked Hal. Thats a thousand dollars
for each year of mine.
Hal glanced out the window.
Sunlight shimmered. The storm was
over.
Deborah Sharp is a Fort Lauderdale
native, a former journalist, and the
author of the Mace Bauer Mysteries.
She lives along the New River with
her husband, Kerry Sanders.
Follow Himmarshee Hal's
next escapade
in the October issue
of Go Riverwalk Magazine.

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